Monday, 16 July 2012 13:41

To Pioneers of Inspiration

Written by 

Farewell to the thermal yore

Some whereat things did follow

Man, my pioneers sang fluently

What gives man power to rise

Farewell great ancestors due

Realms of songs have I imbibed

So sweet, soothing and pricking

And would be gross to deny

Thou art Wisdom, fast Socrates

Though Utopia lay on leaves

And Aristotle, so mildly brave

Charged the perils of degrade

Adieu Chaucer for thy lays

May I just a day be let

To wend to Canterbury

So to look at Bath's deaf wife

Spencer's Prothalamion's great

Of tales pressing and fearful

With fair bids that sweet Thames run

Till Master ends his music

Drayton, thou kissed and parted

Yet wished to return from death

While Marlowe had summoned

The fair swains to sing and dance

William, William, O William

Art thou with only a brain!

My compendium of thy hail

Sonnets flew smooth through thy pen

God has heard thy painful cry

Hymnodist Donne - Whole Minstrel

And being 'indifferent' here

Seems to curb our pains and joys

Paradise was lost, Milton

And sin-bred did debar man

Of his simply happiest life

Was it not again realized?

Finitude can't comprehend

The Great, all have endeavoured

And a love-happy minute

Relieves our fear, O Dryden!

Brave Alexander don Pope

May I have entrée to say

Thy thrilling notes reached the sky

And heavenly joys inspired

Thou art worth all words can say

For thou has real the table turned

That singers can first play thought

Than mere prosody and rhyme

Nature in thee and reverse

And thy child was thy father

Man's solitude draws him near

To God, love and live Nature

The opiate-induced Taylor

Thou wise Ancient Mariner

Turned, saw Abyssinian maid

Play piano on Abora

Allan, thou feared 'Nevermore'

And was coveted for love

Between you and Annabel

Who laid in peace by sea side

Drink life to the lees, Alfred

And chase lore like sinking star

And a lot is wrought by Calls

Than Reason can comprehend

Things have fallen far apart

Anarchy has marred this land

All, old and young have traversed

Thy art well done, O stern Yeats!

Eliot - Master of the art

Hollow men art we today

Impatient, hard in life chase

Yet fear a handful of dust

All bridges are falling now

So long live Ladies of Rock

And Speare's wit demeaned as rags

And the Thunder's speech reversed

O Pepper, true all lie bare

Casualties of peace-less-ness!

And oppressors and oppressed

Have a day sure to recall

And Wole, the big lore headed

In telephone conversation

Apartheid even out of sight

How severe thou art in art!

Okara, I hear with thee

The call of the River Nun

Even as mine river does call

To still crested waves of life

The crowding stony faces

Of man, O Leopold Senghor!

Haunts, scares the humane, albeit

But our heroes never die

Haven't we always been the last

As we rush-rush, dear Kwesi

To remove peace from our homes

In search of queer betrayals?

To ye all I hold a hail

Whether ye ain't said in this

It's not neglect but this sheet

Compiles all thou rich ages

Reason, Romantic are spurs

More of thought and love divine

The fountains have I well tapped

But claim no golden instinct

To say one is wrong is wrong

Except one plus one is one

But when eyes are used to think

These have I weighed and taken

Ye live when human transit

And inspire as long lives man

For all we do with intent

Dwell after our flesh manures

 

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Muhammad Ajah

Muhammad Ajah is a writer, author, advocate of humanity and good governance based in Abuja. E-mail- mobahawwah@yahoo.co.uk